


Better Living Through Technology

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bruises, Disability, Fucking Machines, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harold is a problem solver and John gets spectacularly laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Living Through Technology

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to talking2thesky for beta, and to Morin for telling me to sit down and write. <3

"Please," John said into Harold's mouth, hardly daring to believe when Harold pulled back to say, “John, yes, of course," punctuating the words with hard little kisses.

He had John strip for him. John stood at parade rest, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Harold's eyes were warm on his skin, his hands warmer still when he gave John feather-light touches. He pressed a gentle kiss just above John's collarbone, and John shook. He wanted to give so hard it would be more like taking, only reined back by Harold's whim. By the knowledge that anything that Harold didn't want him to give would be useless.

"What do you want?" Harold asked.

"Fuck me," John blurted. His every muscle tightened with expectation, dick standing rigid under Harold's scrutiny. Harold kissed him once again, sweet and deep, and once again said, "Of course."

He kept kissing John as he directed him toward the bed. He stopped only to take his own clothes off. The uncertain way he glanced at his pants before leaving them in a crumpled heap to wrinkle was inexplicably endearing. “I'll iron them for you later," John said, kissing Harold to reward behavior he wanted repeated.

Harold muttered something along the lines of "Dry cleaning exists," but he went on with the program, so John couldn't complain.

It was as though Harold co-conspired with John's body to make this happen in the most efficient way possible. "Spread your legs," Harold instructed, and John's legs moved practically on their own. He finally understood first-hand the way Harold could make any electronic system open up and beg with a few deliberate touches of his fingers.

Not that John was begging. Much.

The sex itself was brief and halting. Harold took him in missionary position, pausing every so often, either to adjust his position because his injuries were acting up or because he needed to rest. He made every move count, though: he found John's prostate on the second push and proceeded to nail it on every subsequent thrust, until John was squirming under him, begging for more, _harder_.

"I'm afraid that-- this is--" Harold gasped, words and movement intermittent, "as hard-- as I can-- go. I apologize--"

John kissed him, to drive away the bitterness of Harold apologizing to him for anything. 

Harold's climax was marked by him stilling, completely, except for his fingertips biting into John's shoulder and his eyes rolling back until only the whites were visible. He pulled out almost at once, sliding his fingers into John before he could register being empty, wrapping his other hand around John's cock. Every touch made John's body respond: he felt like an array of control lights, turning green one after another until he was glowing all over.

"Yes, I see," Harold said, in a preoccupied tone John knew well. "So if I do _this_..."

What _this_ was, John didn't have the presence of mind to notice. He only knew that suddenly his sensations went from _good_ to _transcendental_ , that he was either coming or having an out of body experience and wasn't yet willing to rule out both.

When he gained awareness again, Harold was covered in the top sheet, stroking John's hair. "Did you have a good time?" he asked.

John laughed, a rusty sound that lasted for a long time and left his throat feeling sore. "Yeah," he said, finally: the understatement of the century.

"Good." Harold smiled at him, a small expression that took John's breath away with its sincerity. "I have some ideas for next time, if you'd like to--"

This time, John only kissed him because he wanted to. Maybe Harold could invent a way to talk during kisses. If anybody could, it would be him. On the other hand, it was a tactical advantage that John didn't want to lose just yet. Maybe he'd think of something later.

~~

The next time, Harold asked him, "Would you like to, ah, have me this time?"

Something about the phrasing rubbed John wrong. "If you want to."

"In that case," Harold said, lying back, "would you like to ride me?"

John did, very much. Harold's hands on his hips guided him so that Harold still got him exactly where it counted on every single move, and this time there were no interruptions, nothing but sweet gliding rhythm that kept going forever. 

"John." Harold's voice wobbled. "John, I'm going to--"

"Good," John said, and bent to kiss Harold as he came. Harold grabbed his hips, this time, rather than his shoulders. John hoped the bruises would be as spectacular as before. He liked pressing on them when he was by himself, the muted pain so mild he could barely call it that. They made a nice souvenir.

~~

"I understand this was presumptuous of me," Harold was saying, "but I hope you enjoy this. Of course, if you don't, or don't care to try, you have only to say the word."

John stared ahead at the contraption Harold had unveiled to him moments ago. It was a sleek thing, he had to admit, very classy. A padded leather surface to lie on, leather straps to keep him in place. Mechanically he noted that they had velcro catches, incredibly easy to undo. Underneath it, a motor, connected to a matte black dildo. Not a particularly huge one, nor too realistic: the whole thing could have been placed into a modern art gallery without anyone realizing what it was. 

Beside him, Harold had fallen silent. John glanced at him: Harold offered him a small, uncertain smile.

The idea of disappointing Harold was unthinkable. John smiled back, slow and suggestive. "I think I need a demonstration, Harold."

This part, at least, was familiar and enjoyable: Harold stripping him, laying him down. Harold had the most expressive hands - not in the way of gestures, which he rarely used, but in the way they felt against John's skin. John had never felt so cared for as when Harold was positioning him for whatever they were going to do next, and this was no exception. Anything that happened next would be worth it. John clung to this knowledge as Harold prepared him, opening him up with sure touches. By now they both knew that John would come undone for him as quickly and thoroughly as pulled shoelaces. 

Then Harold moved away. John maintained deep, even breaths, attempting to picture what was going to happen next. Tricky, that, since John couldn't just go away in his mind and let Harold do as he wanted. Harold would notice, and likely be upset. John would have to show enthusiasm. What did people find appealing about a piece of cold, impersonal plastic put in them? John was drawing a blank, and he didn't have time to get creative. 

"Now, obviously I couldn't take measurements," Harold said. John felt the blunt edge of the dildo nearing up. "Which is a shame, and I wonder why there isn't anything for that. Perhaps I should design...." The dildo edged inwards. "Anyway, this should do the work," and the dildo slipped right inside John, filling him up with the precision of something custom-made.

He gasped, drawing breath to say something, anything, when Harold said, "Alright, let's try this for a start," and the dildo began moving in and out of him. It pushed and pulled slowly, unchanging, unstopping, stimulating every part that John had ever strained to reach on lonely nights. 

So perfect that it had to be soulless, perhaps, except Harold kept _touching_ him. His hands were on John's shoulders, kneading slowly as he spoke. "It seems I got the dimensions about right, though of course I'd love to hear any comments you'd care to make, John." 

John made a weak noise.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Harold said. "I think we can pick the speed up a notch," and that was it, John was lost in the perfect pressure and texture of the toy inside him, pressing his prostate and his rim with such an expert touch that he felt like crying. He was anchored by Harold's grip on his shoulders, solid and present, grounded by his voice as John dipped in and out of listening. 

Harold was talking about specs, about drafting the plans for this machine, finding the exact right material for handling his weight and the vibrations of the engine. About having the dildo order-made to fit John exactly. "Do you know, I rather like this," Harold said when John cried out with pleasure, ratcheting the speed up. "It lets me take so much more in, John. I can see your face. You're magnificent like this," as matter of fact as he was talking about breaking strains and RPMs. "I enjoy being touched but it's very distracting, don't you find it so?" He paused, then added, "On the other hand, I also enjoy providing the distraction."

John's cock was aching, hurting with how much he wanted to come. He couldn't move his hands to take care of himself, though, and he didn't want Harold to take his away from John's shoulders. The leather-padded surface that supported him held his chest up, and another under it supported his knees, leaving him bent with his cock jutting out with nothing to rub against.

"Oh, of course," Harold said. "You must want - here." He moved one hand away from John's shoulders to his cock. "I thought of having something fabricated for this, too, but in the end of the day there is something to be said for the personal touch."

What John had to say at _that_ personal touch was, "Fuck," as the machine fucked him dry, his cock twitching and spilling in Harold's warm, firm grip. 

When he was done, Harold turned a dial and the fucking slowed, until John said, "Keep it going." His voice was low, thick. The words were hard to dredge out. His head lolled from side to side, a silent _Don't stop, don't stop_.

Harold didn't. Instead, he went around and stood in front of John, fingers carding through his hair. "You're taking it beautifully." His voice was tender, for all that the words felt like they could tear John apart. "If you would like for me to make the cock sleeve as well, please say so. I want this to be as enjoyable as possible for you."

At that, John managed to crane his head up to meet Harold's gaze. "I'm pretty sure any more _enjoyable_ might kill me." Harold's smile was pleased. Also, his pants were tenting obscenely. John licked his lips, purposely extravagant about it. "See, this is why you should wear zipper flies. I could've opened those with my teeth."

Gratifyingly, Harold swallowed. He was also opening his fly, hands steady and quick for all that his dick fell out hard, red, and ready. "No need, I assure you."

"Maybe I like to show off sometimes," John said, and swallowed Harold's cock down as a demonstration.

He wasn't counting on how _good_ that would be. He was only going to get Harold off, maybe add in a few little flourishes in gratitude for all the effort and thought Harold put into this. But he was still so full, dildo rubbing everywhere he was sensitive inside, Harold's hands gently holding his head, Harold's taste filling his mouth. He shook, swallowing convulsively around Harold. He didn't want to get up, didn't want to breathe. Didn't want to do anything for the rest of this life except be here, like this, accepting the largess Harold chose to bestow on him, doing whatever he could to make Harold feel as good as he made John feel.

"John," Harold whispered, and his machine fucked a little bit more come out of John's softening cock as Harold came spilled his throat.

~~

In the aftermath of sex, Harold liked to run his hands over John, fingers tripping over his vertebrae as though they were rosary beads. John wasn't opposed to this, himself. It helped him think.

"That resolves, hm, some of the speed and endurance issues," Harold said. "Quite satisfactory, I thought." 

Understatement, again. He was radiating smugness like a cat with a bowlful of cream. So much so, in fact, that it took John another moment to realize what Harold had actually just _said_. "Wait," John said, slowly. "This is because you thought you're--" He can't even bring himself to finish the sentence. "Harold, it was fine before. Better than fine."

Harold didn't seem even a little self-conscious. "Why would I settle for _fine_ when I can accomplish so much more?" After another look at John's face, he said, "You don't imagine I've been harboring feelings of inadequacy, do you, Mr. Reese? I simply don't see why I wouldn't enhance the experience to the best of my ability. For both of us."

John had no idea where to even begin responding to that. Harold must have taken his silence as agreement. He kissed John briefly and got up to wash. John remained where he was, blinking up at the library's ceiling, for another five minutes. 

When Harold came back, clean and dressed, John was sitting on the floor next to the fucking machine, trying to see how the whole thing fit together. Harold came closer and watched as John detached the dildo from the mechanical arm. "It has a carrying case, if you need it," Harold said.

"I do, actually." John waited a beat for Harold to ask. When he didn't, John mentally shrugged and volunteered, "Since you liked removing distraction so much, I thought we could do this by remote control. If you get what I mean." By his rapid blinking, John assumed he did. 

Harold tried to speak, ended up clearing his throat, and saying, "I see. Tonight?"

"Up to you." John noted with glee how Harold's eyes moved down to the toy and snapped back up to John's face, almost guilty. "I don't really like using these things solo. If you felt like suggesting some instructions, though, I might listen." He left the library whistling, doing his best to commit the image of Harold's faint flush to memory.


End file.
